


Served Cold

by Ceares



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:41:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1478371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceares/pseuds/Ceares





	Served Cold

Charlie has been gone forty-eight hours and they don't have any clue where, or even why he's gone. They find signs of a struggle, a chalk board knocked askew, traces of what proves to be Charlie's blood on the desk and the floor, but no one on their street of nosy neighbors saw or heard a thing. Don is going crazy, they all are. working the case, and he can't imagine what his father is feeling now, sitting at home.

His mind is on Charlie and nothing else, when he feels the cold muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of his neck. The man, who he eventually recognizes as Kyle Foster, someone he put away a few years ago for drug trafficking -- a small cog in a big machine--offers him a simple deal. Come with him, no struggle, and he'll get to see Charlie alive again, don't and Charlie is dead.

Forty-eight hours and they don't have the first clue of where Charlie is, so Don believes him, and goes along without a fight. And he knows what his agents would say about that, what his father would say, but it's Charlie. Don can't _not_ go.

 

++++++++++

 

 

He walks ahead of Foster up the path, and pushes the cabin door open, relief flooding him as he sees Charlie, sitting in the middle of the floor gagged and tied hand and foot to a chair. There is a bruise on his forehead, but he stares at Don alertly, eyes wide and scared.

"Get over there and untie him." Foster gestures with the gun again and Don looks for any opening that would allow him to make a move without putting Charlie in harm's way. "Now!"

He works quickly, unfastening Charlie's wrists and ankles, and gently massaging each to get the blood flow going again. "You okay, buddy?"

Charlie nods and gives him a weak smile. "Yeah."

"Your brother is fine, thanks to you, actually. If you hadn't come along, baby brother would have been in for a pretty painful death. I was counting on you, though."

"What are you talking about?" Don kneels next to Charlie, his body partially in front of his brother, protecting him as much as he can.

"I may not be a genius like Professor Eppes here, but I did my research on the two of you. The boy genius and the boy scout. I needed to know if you loved him enough to come, and now you have a chance to save him." Foster takes another chair across from them. He sits with the gun pointed unwaveringly in their direction. "I had a little brother. Kenny wasn't very smart, not like little Charlie here, but I loved him. I was all he had, it was my job to protect him. You know what that's like right Agent? Only when he needed me, I was inside, because of you."

His tone is conversational, but the look on his face is pure insanity and Don wonders how they will make it out of this alive. "You know they wouldn't even let me go to his funeral?"

"I'm sorry. But, Charlie has nothing to do with whatever grudge you have against me. You have me, now let him go."

"Don!" Charlie's protest is instantaneous and Don puts a hand on his brother's knee and squeezes, never taking his eyes off Foster.

"Aw, that's sweet. See you do know. I'm glad, cause I don't really want to kill him. That would be too easy." He watches the two of them quietly for a moment. "Tell me, Agent Eppes . Would you do _anything_ to save your brother? Would you kill someone? Kill yourself? Take a gun and blow your own brains out if it would keep him alive? I would have."

Don swallows, nods even as Charlie jumps to his feet behind him. "No!"

He stands up, once more pushing Charlie behind him. He gets flashes of Charlie, toddling after him at two and ten, love and admiration given as freely as he pushed it away. Charlie in front of a class, in front of a whiteboard, smiling shyly at Amita, earnestly explaining a case theory, joyfully trash-talking after making a basket. Don thinks in a choice between his life and Charlie's, there is no choice.

Foster smiles at the two of them. "Oh don't worry. Like I said, death is too easy."

"Then what the hell do you want?" Don knows he shouldn't be confrontational. Angering the crazy man is not a good plan, but he's scared and he's pissed off. He wants to take Charlie home and he needs to know how to make that happen.

"What I want is for you to know what it feels like to lose your brother. I want to you live every day, knowing you couldn't protect him. What I _want_ Agent Eppes, is for you to fuck him."

"What?" He expects a request for information, access to classified files or confiscated drugs, even money. This is something he never expected, can't imagine.

"You heard me. You are going to fuck your little brother, or I'm going to kill him. The choice is yours."

Don's stomach turns over. He can feel Charlie jerk behind him, a gasp of protest smothered against his back. "I can't do that. "

Foster moves fast. He leaps up and shoves Don out of the way, slapping Charlie across the face and sending him sprawling. "Oh you'll do it, or I _will_ shoot in you in the knees and beat your brother to death while you watch."

Don crouches over Charlie, who sits up, wiping the blood away from his mouth. He can feel his brother trembling, and Charlie's eyes are moist but he never makes a sound. He glares at Foster. "You sick son of a bitch! Were you fucking your own brother? Or did you just want to? Is that what this is about? You getting off on this, you fucking pervert?"

Foster grimaces. "Hell no, I would never have touched him like that. No, I'm not going to get off, but you are." He crosses back to his chair and sits down. "I told you. I had a long time to think about how I was going to make you pay. I want you to look at him every day and remember what you did to him. I want you to remember that you enjoyed it. I want you to watch him flinch when you come near him, watch him leave the room to avoid you."

He leans forward and smiles viciously. " I want you to get sick to your stomach when you think about him. I want to know that you'll never get any relief, never get any respite, never get over it or get it out of your system because who are you going to tell that you raped your baby brother and came while you were doing it? Every day, for the rest of your life, I want the thought of him to bring you nothing but guilt and pain and sorrow. "

Foster reaches in to the drawer by the table and tosses a container to Don. "I figure we have a couple of hours before your agents put together the clues I left for them. Plenty enough time I think."

 

++++++++++

 

His brother's eyes are wet, and Don can feel the moisture in his own eyes as well. He takes his thumb and wipes away a tear that trails down Charlie's cheek. "I'm sorry." Charlie nods, in understanding and tacit permission for him to continue.

"Charlie, close your eyes, okay Buddy? Don't think. Turn off that big brain of yours and just feel." Don ignores his own hard on and concentrates on Charlie, using his hands and his mouth to bring his brother erect. Charlie moans, hips thrusting up involuntarily.

Thank God for Foster's conveniently provided lube. The man is serious about wanting him to enjoy it, and while Don is grateful that he isn't expected to hurt Charlie, he doesn't know if the pleasure makes it better or worse. Don eases into Charlie, fingers digging into his brother's hips hard enough to bruise. He stills, giving Charlie a chance to adjust and when he finally moves, they both gasp with the pleasure/pain of it.

 

++++++++++

 

Foster stands over them, scary smile firmly in place and when he pulls the gun forward, Don instinctively covers Charlie's body with his. They both flinch when the shot comes, and then freeze under the spray of warm blood as Foster's body drops to the ground.

They lay there, covered in sweat and semen and blood. Don can feel Charlie shaking under his hands and he tightens his grip, pulling his brother closer and murmuring reassurances, mouth pressed against his hair. “It’s okay, Charlie, it’s okay.” Until it is almost a chant, as if repeating it over and over can make it be true, when Don knows that it will never be true again.

After a few minutes he gets them up and into the bathroom. Cleans them off as best he can while Charlie stands passive. He finds the phone fully operational and he calls, and is put through to Megan. They are indeed on the way. Foster's clues leading them slowly to where Don and Charlie are. He wants to hike back to Foster's car, meet them on the way, but he doesn't think Charlie will make it. Still, they won't stay in there with the body either. When David drives up, they are sitting on the porch, Charlie huddled against the post, Don sitting close enough to touch, but not.

++++++++++

Epilogue:

Foster's revenge isn't exactly the way he planned, but Don thinks he'd be happy with it anyway. Charlie does his best to keep things the way they were before, between them. He goes out of his way to touch Don casually, to invite him over to the house, to stand next to him during briefings. It's not Charlie who flinches and moves away--not Charlie who leaves the room as quickly as he can when they are together.

As twisted as Foster was Don thinks, he's sicker and more twisted because it's not shame he feels when he thinks about what happened in that cabin, not revulsion that makes his stomach twist when Charlie is near him. Charlie is his baby brother--his blood, but all Don can think about when he's near him is how Charlie tasted in his mouth, how he writhed under his hands, clenched around his cock--all he can think about is fucking Charlie again and again, until there's nothing left of either of them but each other.

He's hard--aching with it, the minute Charlie puts a hand on his arm, and guides him into the stairwell, the security door slamming loud and solid behind them.

"Don, please. It's okay, it doesn't matter. We'll fix it." Charlie's expression is pleading, his hand still grasping Don's arm tightly, and Don jerks away, slamming his hand into the wall, and savoring the painful sting.

It's Charlie's grasp of that same hand, gently examining it for injury that finally breaks him, and he shoves his brother up against the wall with the same force, presses into him, grinds into him until Charlie's eyes widen. "We _can't_ fix this Charlie. Now stay--the--fuck--away."

And Charlie does, for once, what he's told. And it's worth all the worried looks and tentative inquiries if everything is okay between them for Don not to have to fight temptation every day. It's bad enough alone at night in his apartment--at least there he can quell the hunger with enough beers to let the feel of his own hand serve as an adequate substitute.

He's on the sofa, head back, eyes closed, his third beer generating a nice buzz when there's a knock on his door. He wants like hell to ignore it, but he can't. Somehow he's not surprised to find Charlie standing there. A part of him knew his brother wouldn't stop trying to make things better. He shakes his head in exasperation. "Charlie, you need to..." He's interrupted by a hand over his mouth.

"Don, shut up." And then Charlie's hand is replaced by his mouth and he's kissing Don. Want, need and hunger--sin and salvation, consuming them both.


End file.
